Ever closer...

I finally picked up the keys to my new apartment yesterday morning. And handed over far too much money to the UBS-employed landlord (like he needs it!). I'm finally getting excited about the prospect of moving.

Of course, this could be because, whenever I feel like the canvas/cardboard jungle that is my current flat is getting too much, I can go and sit in the empty loveliness of New Flat. So far, I've moved the dehumidifier, vacuum cleaner and a bookshelf in there. Maybe I should just keep it like that.

After signing the lease (and going home for a much needed brunch - how I wasn't hungover after Saturday night's wine, wine, COSMO, wine, wine, wine, vodka lime, vodka lime, champagne, random straight vodka, I don't know), it was time to start cleaning. I always assumed a landlord was responsible for ensuring his property was clean before letting it - and to be fair, it was surface clean - but in Hong Kong, the tenant has no rights. And thus no expectations. I was very lucky to have someone help me clean the kitchen. She was in there nearly four hours. I may be a hoarding pig who enjoys living in a pile of books and clothes, but seriously, some people are FILTHY. The cupboards in the kitchen and bathroom were just repulsive, the hob alone took about an hour to scrub. The bathroom was quite gross. I bleached all over before attacking with magic bathroom cleaner and basically showering the whole place. As for a wardrobe that I'd decided to keep - I nearly suffocated from the amount of Dettox I had to spray in there. How anyone ever dared to keep clothes in there, I don't know.

As someone who thinks "housework" means getting the cleaner in every fortnight and occasionally spritzing some Dettox around, it was an exhausting day (that made me really appreciate the hard slog helpers are put through here) - I went to bed at 9.30, wuss that I am. It also made me more determined to avoid keeping so much crap. Unfortunately, a bigger space means more surfaces to clutter. It's never-ending.

It's actually incredibly cool and horrendously unnerving at the same time being in possession (possession! ha!) of two flats. It would be so easy to get used to! I have 11 days until I have to give up my current flat, and I can just imagine not bothering to do anything until the night before. That would be stupid. But quite typical. I went along this morning (I was ludicrously early for work) and it was so nice and EMPTY. How sweet it is to be spread between homes (two towers apart).

But to get onto the moan of the day, after slogging away (and sweating beyond belief), all I wanted was to luxuriate in a hot bath with some quite divine Laura Mercier Tangerine bubbles (not very bubbly, actually, so I chuck in some Johnson & Johnson baby bath, the best stuff ever). But oh no, I have one of those plugs that's uppy-downy, not a rubber plug like you tend to get in the UK. And it doesn't seal absolutely. I'd run a quarter bath, and it was leaking out like nobody's business. So I had to give up and take a shower. Why does anyone install them? They never work properly, meaning any relaxing soak planned is ruined, or fraught with wondering whether the water's going down or it's all in your imagination.

Forgive my wittering moan. Missing out on a bath makes me sulk. I guess, at least, I saved a tub of water.